


My backstory

by JungYoongi9493



Category: N/A - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 09:56:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14830112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JungYoongi9493/pseuds/JungYoongi9493





	My backstory

Not really sure how to start this but here we go I guess. 

Hi, my name is Chyna Loren and I'm 28 years old. My life is.. Well mine. Everyone has a different story, be it great, not so great etc. But here's mine. 

I was born and raised in Philadelphia, PA USA. My mother was young when she had me, 18 and never finished high school due to her own upbringing not being very good. She suffered a lot coming up with my grandmother being a drug addict most of her life, and the one person she loved most, her father being killed when she was 8. Anyways, she ended up meeting my dad and got pregnant and had to drop out of school and find a job. My father has never been in my life. When he got my mom pregnant, at the time he already had 2 other women pregnant. So he was out of my life before I was even born. Just took off and never looked back. I have a total of 20 siblings thanks to him and I know not one of them. I never really felt anything towards my father, he's a stranger to me, but it didn't ease the pain of not knowing who the other half of me was "do I look like him?" "Do I get my habits from him?" "Does he think about me?"nor did it stop people making fun of me for not having a dad. But I just went through life trying not to think about it. What's the point? 

But back to my mother. When I was born, my mom had picked up her mother's bad habits. She was on crack and barely took care of me and often left me with my grandmother or " Friends" (Her dealers and enablers) when I was only a month old I was being cared for by different people while my mom went to work or hung out with her friends. This went on until I was 3 years old, and my mom popped up pregnant again with my sister. All through that pregnancy she still did drugs and when my sister was born she almost died. But did that stop my mom? Nope. A year later my brother was born, also crack addicted. She did manage to have those 2 by the same guy though. I still to this day remember this man and his mother. After my siblings were born, my mom had started to get clean from drugs and worked a semi stable job. So when she would work, she would leave us all at my siblings dads house with him and his mother. They hated me. I remember getting beat by his mother because "You're not his child. You're just some bastard child" I couldn't play, I couldn't eat and couldn't drink. They wouldn't feed me because "I'm not their obligation" One time he locked me in a closet all day long in the summer heat because he caught me "playing" And that's in quotes because I didn't have toys nor was I allowed to watch TV. So my form of playing that day was a spit bubble.  
I was so bored that at age 4 spit bubbles we're entertaining. Well he caught me. He caught me and he called me disgusting and slapped me across the face. He told me since I was bad and didn't listen I would be in the closet until my mom came. Well she never did. 

Instead of coming to pick up her 4,2 and 9 month old, she relapsed and stayed out all night long. And I remained in that closet until she showed up hours into the next day high and unfit for caring for us. Luckily we lived with my grandma so when she bought us back home, she cared for us while my mom was out doing whatever. The downfall of that was my grandmother had other kids besides my mom, and she was often busy dealing with my at the time 13 year old uncle and him always getting arrested so most times we got the bare minimum from her also. But it was a house with a roof. Even if it was quite literally falling down around us. It was so bad we had holes in our floors like huge holes in our wood flooring from the wood being rotted through. Once time I fell through one. Just my leg, but I was terrified because I could feel my leg wasn't touching anything and if no one was there to grab me, I would have fallen straight through the floor and into my concrete basement. Wanna know how we patched the hole? My grandma made my uncle pull a stop sign from a pole and bring it home. My hallway now had a fucking stop sign in the middle of it. Ha! Not only were the floors failing, but if it ever rained, it was like we had no roof. It leaked HORRIBLY. I remember one time the day before I started school, it rained really bad. I was asleep and I knew it was bad cause before going to sleep I noticed they didn't have it under control as well as usual. Every single pot pan and bowl we owned were all over the house, plastic covered the ceiling with murky rain water collecting in them quickly. But I'm 5. what could I do? So I went to bed. Later that night the ceiling in my room collapsed on top of me while I was asleep. I screamed. Disoriented, wet and cold. I screamed. My uncles had to come and pull me out and my room was destroyed. From then on I stayed in the living room. 

We lived like that for years, until one day we finally got put out. Condemned. That's what the bright orange sign said on the door to the only home I knew. 

We got split up. 

My grandma and my youngest uncle went to live with her father, who barely had room for them. My older uncle ran off with his girlfriend. And us? We went with my mom of course. But where. A homeless shelter. For 6 years of my childhood we lived in 15 different shelters. Note how I never mentioned school anymore. I didn't go. Couldn't. Didn't have an address to register with. I wouldn't start school until I was six. But thanks to my grandma, I loved to read and never fell behind and even got skipped a grade once I did start. But living in shelters has been something that has never left me. They were disgusting. People stole the little belongings we had. They would fight over food. They would fight over cots to sleep on. Even though all of that I tried to stay strong. I had no choice really, but to deal with it all. My mom was with us, but not really present. She had started messing with pills and that was her priority. So much so, we often ended up being kicked out of shelters because she wouldn't follow the no drug rule. One night I broke down. 6 years old I broke down crying because my baby brother, hungry crying for my mom who was god knows where, rang in his 2nd birthday clinging to me while I sang happy birthday to him as best I could on a hard cot, no blankets, no hope. To this day I don't know why that's the thing that got me. 6 years I never had a birthday celebration, and my sister had a total of one before everything went to shit. And as I type this I still cry. It just hurt me so bad seeing him innocent and so lost as to what was going on. Where's mom? Is this our home now? Or will we be put out of this one too. I hadn't even realised what day it was until I told him stop crying and to come to me. When he came over to me, I caught a glimpse of the ratty calendar on the wall and then checked the time. 2am Dec 2nd. I think that's what got me. 2am.already 2 hrs. Past baby boy. And I couldn't even keep track of the days to make it special enough for you and I was so very sorry for that. The next day, we got kicked out due to my mom being caught with drugs again. We had one final meal before they put us out. Grits and eggs. I gave mine to my brother. Happy birthday kid. That night we didn't have a cot. We slept on some steps somewhere. My mom was never responsible. I was always from a young age the one who held us together. I would walk long distances to buy diapers for my brother. Use paper food stamps to buy food here and there. Never my mom. She was always either high somewhere or on lockdown in the shelter going through withdrawal. The first time I seen someone die, I was 8. My mom had given me food stamps to go get my brother some food because yet again she couldn't leave the shelter. So I leave walking to the nearest store. On my way, people suddenly start shooting. A drive by. One minute I was envying a girl about my ages roller skates, the next I watching as a stray bullet pierces her head and she falls to the ground motionless. She was also 8 I later found. 8 and gone right before my eyes. I never got the food. I just ran back to the shelter screaming. I didn't trust outside anymore. My mom didn't get it. She never does. 

That was my living situation until I was 10.when I turned 10,my mom finally had her shit together enough to get a government subsidized house. A house. I had a home again. So I ignored the drugs making a return. I ignored the fact that we had no hot water. I ignored the fact that I would have to parent my siblings making sure they had food that night. I lied, I stole from Kyle mother I did what I had to for those 2 kids who I felt still had a chance. I ignore it all because I had a home. A safe place. 

I ignored it all until I was 12.

At 12 my mom had a constant revolving door of men in and out of our house. I knew why. I just didn't want to acknowledge it. She barely worked so how else were the lights on? The gas? The drug money? Men. 

So one day I guess she decided she liked one guy in particular and let him move in fresh from getting out of jail. I came home from school to my mother in bed with some guy I have never seen a day in my life. And all she tells me is "he's a friend of mine and since he just got out of jail, he'll be staying with us for a bit" From the moment I laid eyes on that man, I knew I didn't like him. But I was 12 and it wasn't my place. Before I knew it his 15 year old daughter was also in the picture and she was awful. She bullied me. Disrespected my mother constantly and tried to hurt my siblings all the time. We physically fought all the time, often leading to me getting in trouble because "stop being a brat! I need this man YOU need this man. Now play nice" So I did.

Then one day I came home from school to find my house what I assumed was empty. My mom had taken my siblings to visit my grandma, and I was told to do my homework feed myself and be in bed by a decent time for school the next day. I was under the impression that the man and his daughter were away somewhere also. I was half right. The daughter was in Delaware with her mother. The man? The man was in my house. I ignored him most of the day and he just watched me do everything saying how he was "in charge" Til my mom returns. I finished my homework and asked if I could go out and ride my bike for a bit before it got dark, as my mother stated I could. He told me no. He made me clean my room. Which ok fine. Except not fine. Every single time I would finish he would destroy it again saying it wasn't done right. Eventually I got fed up and went to call my mother. He stopped me. He stopped me by grabbing me by my hair and tossing me into a wall. I scream. I scream and scream for someone to help me. But help never comes. He spends the rest of that day and night beating and raping me. When my mom returns it's a full day and a half later, and he's long gone. But not before telling me "if you ever EVER speak of this I will kill you" So it never got bought up. My bruises we're from falling off my bike and the pain from being raped was nonexistent. Nothing happened to me. I was fine. 

That's the lie I told myself until I actually believed it. I was fine. It was my fault anyway for not listening. My room wasn't cleaned enough. I upset him with something I've done and I deserved it. I'm fine. 

Life goes on like that, and eventually I'm passed middle school with top honors and starting high school. At this point I'm rebelling hard. By then my mom was single again and racked with self loathing. She's depressed I know by now. And still struggling with drugs. I've been raising my siblings all their lives now, and as much as it hurt me to do so, I left them behind. I wanted to be a normal teenager with friends and I couldn't do that if I'm raising kids. So I left. I ran away a lot. But even when I would be away from my house I always went to school. Never missed a day. But that wasn't good enough. My good grades and attendance wasn't good enough for her. She wanted me home to do her job, so we fought a lot. She called the cops on me many many times saying I hit her when I never did. It was a mess. Then one night we fought again. She strangled me, pulled my hair and tried to push me down the stairs screaming at me that I'll never be anything in life so why not just give up now? I left again. This time running to my version of a knight in shining armor. A 22 year old who often gave me rides to school and let me crash a his place when needed. A friend of mines older brother. I trusted him. He never hurt me before and always told me things would get better, just hang in there. I believed him. I believed in him. He let me down. Later that night I sat on his couch, his sister upstairs sleeping unaware that I had came. I bawl my eyes out telling him I feel useless how I never once in my life felt truly appreciated and loved. He took advantage. I fought as hard as I could for a 14 year old girl against a 22 year old male. I fought and I lost in more ways then one. He raped me. Stole the little bit of sanity I had left after the incident when I was 12. Not only did I feel dirty, I now have this sense of "why me?" I must deserve it. I spiraled out of control. While I kept my academics up and continued going to school, all other aspects of my life were destroyed. I had no self confidence, my mom and I weren't speaking unless it was screaming, my siblings felt like I had abandoned them and resented me for it. By the time I was 16 I had been it two abusive relationships with guys older than me, and the last one had beat me to the point I almost died and ended up in the hospital for 2 months. While I was there, then only person who visited me was my cousin, Jangmi. Park Jangmi was a year younger than me and was my absolute rock. While growing up we couldn't see each other much due to her father being in the military and she was born is SK, we still always talked to each other. She was the only one who I always told everything. She knew it all. So naturally when she moved to New York after her father retired we became inseparable. She was the one who introduced me to k pop and the rest was history. I fell in love with the stuff. She's also the one who always told me "Chyna, you have talent. You should share your art with people I'm sure they'll love it just like I do" So I drew. I drew and painted every time I felt trapped and helpless within my own self hate. Nobody liked them. Nobody except Jangmi. After a while, I gave up. Stopped drawing. I became a recluse. I barely spoke to anyone unless needed. My friends dropped me because they didn't understand. They didn't know what I went through and regardless of me explaining they never got it. So as I shut down, they pulled away until I had no one. Jangmi had returned to SK to stay with her grandparents for schooling and I was alone. Craving for any and all attention. I ended up in another relationship by the time I was 17, and even though he still didn't treat me well, it was the best I've gotten all my life. I believed him when he said he loved me. Because he said it. Nobody else had at that point. So he loved me. And I believed it. During the last year of high school, he joined the navy and told me the best way for us to live and get benefits was for us to get married. After consulting with Jangmi, I found out that Yes that's true, girlfriends didn't get benefits only wives so I agreed. Things were going well for a bit. I was finished high school, he was getting our lives in order to move and start a new, we were months away from being married and starting a new better life. I was pregnant. I was happy. He was indifferent. I didn't care. I finally had someone to love me unconditionally. My baby would love me regardless and I would die giving them everything I never had. Things were ok. Then I found out it was twins and I cried my eyes out. Double the love. I could do this. I would do this. Then the infidelity started. He was barely ever with me, but instead out with his friends talking big shit about how he was a military guy now and the money would just roll in. Of course the girls threw themselves at his feet. So much so he expected it from me. To just do as he pleased. I refused to be cheated on and degraded. The abuse started. He would come home drunk and smelling of other women, telling me how they would do anything for him and never bitched. He would wake me up in the middle of the night just to yell at me how I was no good and slap me around. I was scared. This was the best thing I've ever had. If he leaves me then what? I stayed. In stayed because he said he loved me. I believed him. One day, 3 months from when we were to be wed, and 41/2 months into my pregnancy, he snaps. He beats me repeatedly. Hits me all over my body. Continues to tell me I'm ungrateful how other girls would kill to be in my position, why was I so unappreciative? I don't fight back. I just shield my babies as best I can and take it. It'll be over soon. I wake up in a hospital two days later. Fiance in jail for battery and other charges. Charges that at that time I hadn't known, didn't quite grasp the weight of. Homicide. I had broken ribs, bruised bones, cuts everywhere. I almost died. I lost a lot of blood. I lost my babies. I lost my world. I can't have kids anymore. That's what the doctors tell me. I will never again conceive a child. I shut down. 18 years old and I lost it all. After I get discharged I go back to my mom's. She hates me. I don't care. My sibling pity me. I don't care. I have a diploma and can try again. I don't care. I tried to kill myself. I failed. Couldn't jump. I end up in a mental hospital for 6 months and once again get released to my mom. She doesn't sign for me. She leaves me there saying to the staff "you keep her. I'm not fucking dealing with her shit" They let me sign myself out. Jangmi comes to help. I live with her for a few years until I'm 20. At 20 I move out on my own. Try to make a life for myself even though the only thing I want more than life is death. I don't want to live anymore. I have nothing to live for. I go through life not trusting anyone. Not even myself. Look at where that got me. I don't take love seriously. It's not real. And if it is, it's just not meant for me. I don't deserve love. So I live like it. Fast forward a half year into being 20. I randomly pass out at work and end up in the er. I'm sick. Really sick. Hashimotos thyroiditis, possible cancer. Ah finally, death. It wasn't cancer. Just nodules on my thyroid that can become cancerous. So close. So fucking close. I live. Barely. I go from a healthy 20 year old capable of whet ever I want, to a broken body slowly failing me. 21- thyroid is out of control. Constant goiter popping up and making it hard to swallow food. I start to lose weight. 22\. fibromyalgia shows up. An effect of my thyroid producing too many hormones and throwing my body out of wack 23\. Early onset bone degeneration 24\. Nerve damage causing me to lose feeling in random parts of my body at any given time 25\. It's confirmed I cannot have kids and have arthritis 26\. My thyroid has gotten so bad that my metabolism is 3x what it should be. I can't gain weight anymore no matter what I do. My hormones are so out of wack I become emotional wreck. I try to kill myself again. I failed. Not enough pills I guess. Jangmi returns. I'm happy? I want to be but I don't want her to see me like this. A shell of a person. I push her away. She understands. I'm sorry. 27\. My health has deteriorated massively. I can barely walk a few blocks away from my house without being completely exhausted. I get dizzy spells just from standing up and my bones cannot tolerate me standing for longer than 20 mins and my muscles have wasted away, a part of my illness, nothing thrives anymore. Just wastes away until there is nothing left. I give up on living. I don't care. Jangmi forces herself back into my life. She saves me. I continue to try and live a little, but the thought never leaves my mind. Always the best answer. Just end it all. I don't. But it's always there. I begin opening up more. Start a kpop blog on Tumblr and it makes me smile. I'm kinda happy. It scares me. I ignore it. Are going pretty well, I even open up to my followers that I'm happy. Really happy and it scares me but I'm happy. Jangmi and I begin to tune the blog together. Both of us in love with BTS and everything to do with them. She gets a boyfriend and starts spending less time on the blog and that's ok. I'm so happy for her. She's studied hard all her life trying to be the best daughter to her parents, she has a nice job and now she's found love. I'm truly happy for her. Seeing her smile with her arms around his neck made me happy. She deserves it. September, 29th 2017 Jangmi and her boyfriend get into a head on collision. Boyfriend dies instantly. I've only ever seen him in pictures. Gone. Never to be seen happily clinging to Jangmi again. Jangmi is in critical condition, induced coma to try and stop the swelling to her brain. She fights. She always fights. October 7th 2017 Jangmi is declares brain dead. Her parent fight in the hospital over what to do. I can't handle it and leave. Oct 9th 2017, I awake to a phone call that they decided to pull the plug. Park Jangmi is no more. Neither am I. I died with her. December 2 2017 my sister finds out that she's going blind. She has 3 kids to care for. Their father is in the picture but he and my sister fight so much they aren't very friendly. He takes the kids as much as possible with his busy schedule while my sister figures out what's going on with her vision. It isn't good. Unfixable damage to optical nerves, side effects of being born on crack they tell her in the long run. Prepare to lose your sight completely. At this point I have become a second mom to her children. I take my niece to school everyday and we become close. Her father and I become closer too, I respected the way he raised my nieces and nephews, he appreciated me stepping in to help when he knew I wasn't well. We made it work. December 29th 2017 He kills himself. We had no idea he was struggling with depression. The scream my niece released when she lost her father is a sound that still rings in my ears to this day. Awful isn't the word. We bury her father 2 weeks later, the same week my sister finds out her sight is going faster than originally expected. She shuts down. A month later I have partial custody of her kids along with my mom. I've been there for those kids since. Fast forward to now. I'm still struggling with my own demons. Everyday there is a voice in my mind reminding me "hey you could slit your wrists. Or take those pills. Or-" Never ending. It got to a point where I was diagnosed as a functioning suicidal person. Meaning while I'm not always actively trying to kill myself, I'm a high risk situation. My health continues to get worse as time goes on, and at last weeks appointment I was told that 5 years. 5years from now I probably will be wheelchair bound unable to walk due to lack of strength. I was also told that if we didn't figure out a way to reverse the effects of my thyroid, I would probably literally waste away until I died. Incompatible for life they call it. My body can't sustain a healthy living environment for itself. Constantly fighting itself. A death sentence basically. 28 years old, and already fighting against the death clock always ticking in my ear. I wanted to live again. Live for those kids who need me. Live for the few people I've met in the past few years who tell me I'm great. Get a chance to see BTS live. Never in my life have I had the privilege of living a normal life. I've never been to the beach, I can't swim I just went to an amusement park for the first time ever a year ago. Never been to a concert. And never will. Between not being able to work anymore and only living on my disability checks, I never have money. What I do have left over goes to the kids. And that's fine. They deserve it. It's just the way life goes for some. And it's how it went for me. So now I live day by day, constantly bouncing back and forth between wanting to live and wanting to die. I don't trust anyone. And I don't believe in love for myself. I've been in therapy for years trying to convince myself I deserve love but it never sticks. I'm bipolar depressive with way more bad days than good and I suffer from severe social anxiety, constantly craving attention and love but too scared to receive it, always worried about what people think of me. Judging myself before anyone else could. It's safer that way. If I reject myself then they can't because I don't care. Everyday is a constant battle. So while I live and appear happy and normal, I am very far from it. Some days are better than others and I'm still here so it must not be all bad. I'm still here.


End file.
